A Phantom Christmas Story
by The Cure
Summary: Christmas season is coming up, and the gift exhange is not too far away at Paris' Opera House. EC conservative fluff! :D
1. Season changes

**Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera.**

**Ok, I know I still need to work on "Understand it All", but I wanted to write a romantic song fic for right now. I'm in those lovey-dovey moods at the moment, y'know what I mean? (_Blushes_) But have no fear; I might have a new chapter for the other story somewhere in the next 3 weeks. So hopefully you'll all like my attempted, conservative, fluff phanfiction! Thank you, and God Bless. :) –Liane**

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_It was a snowy day at the Paris Opera House as December was approaching. People bustled by, wrapped up in coats and scarves, getting ready for the Christmas holiday that was coming up. Excitement was spreading everywhere in Paris. Several houses and apartments bore packages on their doorsteps, coming from friends and relatives living far away, and festive decorations were wrung up in the marketplace. Colors of red, white, blue, green, and gold flashed its dazzling light upon giddy children, going off to buy some candy._

The Paris Opera House was getting busy itself, as the managers and the Opera residents prepared for the new Operas that fitted in right along with the snowy season. The golden statues that stood proudly in the halls were draped in Holly, and imported pine trees were decorated extravagantly with glass angels, colorful ornaments, and candy canes. Many people were appointed as carolers this year, and were practicing their parts endlessly, until it drove most people mad.

Ballet rats huddled together in the hall in their pink suits, chatting excitedly about the gift exchange that was a regular tradition at the Opera House around Christmastime. Meg, another ballet rat, ran swiftly to find her friend Christine Daae, the rising diva, curled up in her dressing room, reading a book.

Face flushed, and blonde hair widely spread in all directions, she panted. "Christine! Who are you planning to exchange gifts with this year?"

The brown-haired beauty, startled, closed the book, and settled it upon her lap. She smiled softly. "Oh Meg, it's a secret gift exchange. That means I must keep it a _secret_."

Her best friend pouted prettily. "**Please?** I'm your best friend! I'll keep it a secret!" Christine raised her eyebrows at Meg's thoroughly practiced puppy dog look.

**_"Pleeeaaase?"_** That puppy dog look was really getting to her. And Meg hadn't told a soul about her secrets after, Marcy, one of the altos, spread a rumor that eventually died down after a month. Marcy claimed that the Opera Ghost had threatened her while she was getting read for bed one night. But Christine wasn't the type to believe such stories.

She had a feeling she was going to regret this…

"Ok, if you must now. But _promise _you'll keep it a secret? If Marcy starts talking about it, I'll know it was you." Meg made a face at her.

"That was only one time! I never told another secret again, didn't I?"

Christine rolled her chocolate-brown eyes. "Alright, if you must know, I'm going to give my gift this year to my Angel of Music."

Meg wrinkled her nose. "You're going to give it to an**_ invisible_** man?"

Her friend sent her a hurt look, and nervously fiddled with the book she was holding. "Of course he's real…Oh…. I just hope he'll like it." Her face turned bright red as she said the last sentence, turning her face away so Meg wouldn't see. "Well, he is real, and nothing you say can suggest otherwise Meg!"

Meg stared at her for a long time until realization crept into her expression. "You like him?"

Christine turned away, fidgeting nervously.

**_"You LOVE him!?"_** Meg gasped.

Horrified, Christine leapt up, dropping her book. She immediately covered Meg's mouth, glancing around. "Shush, Meg! What if **HE **hears you?"

Her friend let out a muffled giggle. "Christine…in love with her Angel of Music…that's _so romantic_!" As Christine let go of her mouth, she burst out laughing. Gasping, she put her hand to her chest, taking deep breaths.

"What's so funny?" Christine said, crossing her arms over her chest. Meg smiled slightly, and took Christine's place on the chair. She leaned over, picking up the dropped book and scanning its cover.

"Shakespeare's Collection Tragedies and Comedies, hmm? And who gave this to you? As I recall, the Opera House doesn't have these types of books laying around." Meg smirked at the guilty expression on Christine's face. Twirling a lock of strawberry blonde hair around her pinky, she imitated a look of pure confusion.

"Stagehand…no…Carlotta…um, that couldn't be right…the managers?" She laughed. "No wait, maybe it was…_Christine's Angel of Music_?" With that, she burst into little giggles again, flopping backwards on the chair. Christine, obviously offended, tried to shoo her friend out of the room. Her friend, tying to redeem herself, cleared her throat and put on a straight face.

"Ok, ok, I'm done. But how are you going to get it to him?"

Christine bit her lip.

"You're not certain, yes?" Meg smiled, feeling for her friend this time. First loves were always nerve wracking for everyone. The first time a person falls in love was always the most exciting part of one's life. And Christine definitely wasn't calm, considering the way she started to make a considerably strangling knot in her hair. "Hmmm…."

Her friend twisted another knot in her hair, murmuring, "Well, perhaps I could give it to him when he comes to visit for our lessons..."

"Of course!" Meg scoffed. "But it is a **gift EXCHANGE**, Christine. He's supposed to give something back, _remember_? Why don't you tell him about the tradition first?"

Christine shook her head, her curls bouncing and landing in front of her shoulders. Meg, observing the damage done in Christine's beautiful hair, led her to the vanity table and took out a comb, brushing the knotted hair gently.

After awhile, Christine spoke again. "He knows everything that goes around this Opera house. He practically knows how my day was before I could tell him!"

The hand holding the comb froze. "Really?" Curiosity and suspicion peaked at Meg's voice. And Christine wasn't so sure she liked it.

"Yes."

"Strange…the Opera Ghost and this Angel of yours, sure do have a lot of things in common," Meg remarked softly. Christine swiveled from her chair, to turn and look at her, mouth open wide.

"You're not suggesting…?"

"I'm not so sure, Christine. Anything is possible." Meg watched as the confusion on Christine's face turned to anger, shock, and then to overwhelming sadness. Feeling bad for suggestion such a notion to her friend, she turned her friend around again, and continued combing.

"I'm sorry. I know how much your Angel means to you," Meg said. Christine stared at her reflection in the mirror, not saying anything.

The ballet rat patted her shoulder, reassuringly. "I'm sure it's not him, _ok_? The Opera Ghost has a cruel personality. From what you've said about your Angel, he doesn't sound like that at all...Except a little strict. See? They have some differences."

Her friend still didn't say anything.

Worried, Meg placed the comb down, and turned to face Christine again, who was battling tears. Finally, she not being able to hold it anymore let the tears come down in heavy streams.

"Oh Meg! What if you're right?" She sobbed, fisting her pink, little hands to wipe away the salty tears. "I couldn't bear it if it were true!"

_"Why?"_ Meg frowned, hugging her friend as she cried. "Wouldn't that be a good thing if you love him?"

"I…don't know…" Christine admitted, her voice shaky. "There's a part of me that would be happy…**but then** another part of me wonders…if there wasn't any Angel of Music of at all like my father said!" Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she turned around again and let her friend continue to comb her hair.

Meg smiled comfortingly down at her friend as she combed. "Well…in a way, even if he is just a man, he is like an Angel of Music to you isn't he?" Seeing that she made her best friend smile encouraged her to go on. "Remember, what Father Perry told us? God has a purpose for _everyone_. Maybe God and your father agreed that your Angel would be that part in your life. And yours in his."

The tears had left tiny tracks on Christine's face as she turned to give a watery smile up to her best friend. "Thank you Meg. You don't know how much that meant to me."

Meg didn't smirk this time, considering the serious situation, and patted Christine's hair. "Alright, well let's you get fixed up for your suitor! You wouldn't want him to see you in this way, **would you**?"

Her friend's face turned beet red. "**MEG!** My Angel is not a suitor. He doesn't even know how I feel yet!" But she laughed along, supposing that it wouldn't hurt for her Angel to know after all.

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Hidden from the laughing opera girls at the vanity table, an angel was listening to the whole conversation. Too shocked to feel guilty for eavesdropping, he wiped away his tears and turned back to the black, never-ending abyss below…

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**A/N:Hope you enjoyed:D God Bless.**


	2. The Nativity Angel

**Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera. **

**Hey everyone! Thanks for the encouraging reviews I've received. I appreciated every one of them. :)**** Anyhow, this is my last week of vacation…tear. I had a great time though, volunteering at the Jr. High Service for my youth group. I made friends with some girls who go there, and who I'm going to miss a lot when I'm back in school. ;( We had started a little dance group in the back, and one of our pastors started dancing with us. That was funny. Well, on to the story! Hope you enjoy, God Bless. –Liane**

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_The underground lake at the bottom of the Opera House was the best place to go to if you wanted to hide from the rest of the world. The chilly air hung over the lake, its mirror frozen in time. Or seemed to be, rumors considering that no one except the Phantom dared to float upon it's green, misty waters. Black, beady-eyed rats scurried to and fro, hoping to find a meal within the tunnels' black oblivion. With stonewalls crumbling, and muck sticking to the cold ground, it wasn't exactly a safe place either. But to Erik, the Phantom of the Opera and Christine's Angel of Music…_

_It was home._

Erik, finally able to reach his home in his little gondola, tied the boat to a handle, and settled down to sit on the lake's shore. The tears that had continually rolled down his cheeks on the way back dried up and left little trails on his cheeks, letting one know that they were once there. Disgusted with himself for letting his weakness get a hold on him, Erik dunked his head into the water, and then pulled it out, letting the lake's tears camouflage with his. _Now that was better._

Thinking back to Christine's conversation with Meg in her dressing room made him want to dunk his head back in the water again. Just as long as he could avoid thinking about it, it didn't seem like a bad idea. Erik sighed sorrowfully, putting his wet, raven-black hair into his hands. Now he knew that Christine would never love him if she found out **_who he really was_**. Despite Meg's encouragement to his pupil, which he was more grateful for than he would care to admit, he couldn't get Christine's expression out of his head, when she considered that he could be the Phantom of the Opera. And he was.

Erik groaned into his hands.

But then, there was that hope that sprang into his heart again. She didn't protest when Meg accused her of loving him. So why did he feel so afraid? His first impulse should have been to come from behind the mirror, and get down on both knees!

Still, he couldn't get that expression of hers out of his head.

And then there was the Christmas gift exchange as well. He, of course, knew about the Opera House tradition. Erik didn't get the title "Opera Ghost" for nothing. But what should he get her? Something meaningful, and perfect as the angel he was getting the gift for no doubt.

Suddenly, he lifted up his head and smirked at his reflection that wavered back at him in the lake. It seemed very ironic to Erik that he, a master of the arts, architecture, and cunning, could not think up a suitable present for his angel! Immediately a sober look took over though, as another ironic situation came to him. He never actually gave a present to anyone before, besides Madame Giry, considering that this face of his got in the way.

He never gave something **_to someone he loved_. **

A sour note from the chorus upstairs startled Erik out of his thoughts. The Opera carolers were working on a festive piece called "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" and it definitely wasn't sounding very merry and pleasant to him. Horrified, he put his hands over his ears, and walked up to his gold-framed mirrors, surprised they hadn't **shattered** yet.

"I'm like a mole in the ground, and _still_ I can hear them," Erik muttered to himself. Turning to go compose a letter to the managers, he suddenly stopped and took a look at his face. His autumn, leaf golden eyes seemed to have a red-rimmed look to them. This was strange to Erik, since they should have had a puffy look to them by now. And…was it his imagination, or did his throat feel a little _dry_?

"Oh no," he said to his reflection. "Why now?"

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Christine, after going shopping with Meg, stepped into her cozy dressing room once again, and fluffed up her damp hair, hoping it would dry soon. Her lessons with her Angel of Music could be at any moment now, and she looked like a _drowned rat!_

And after all that time, she still couldn't come up with a gift for her Angel, she mused sadly. At the end, she ended up looking for a dress that would fit her tight budget. Hours had gone by, and she finally found the perfect dress from one of the market stands.

On Christmas Eve, The Opera House held a little opera pageant of the Nativity story, along with the caroler's performance. Although Opera tickets were usually expensive for the people of Paris, the pageant was an exception. She had bought the dress in case she had to go to the gala. Christine felt herself bubbling up with excitement, since she was planning on auditioning for the role of Mary. She just hoped that she would do the role justice, despite the reassurances that her Angel had given her.

A sad feeling overcame her as she remembered her father reading to her the Nativity story from the Bible every Christmas eve as a little girl. She had always loved hearing the story from him, and giggled with delight when he enacted the voices in their own unique way, such as the sheep, or the innkeeper. He even read it to her on their last Christmas together, lying sick in bed.

Wiping a tear away from her eye, Christine took her brush from her table, and started to brush, getting lost in her memories. She also remembered when she, as a little orphan girl, told her dear Angel about the tradition. Her Angel had soothingly told her to wipe away her tears, for he was going to read the Nativity story to her…

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"_My child," he murmured comfortingly to the little, curly haired girl, crying on her pillow. "Dry your eyes, for, even though my story-telling skills could not compare to your father's, I will tell you the story of Jesus' birth."_

_Little Christine put a little fist to her eyes, sniffling. "Really? With the sheep baaing?" She had been dressed up in a dark green and red ribbon dress, which Meg's mother had given to her, since she didn't have much clothes of her own. In her hands was a red, Christmas flower that her Angel had given to her, which she had delightfully tucked behind her ear. Her Angel warned her not to eat it, and she had giggled a little at that. Why would she eat a flower as pretty as this? _

"_Yes, with the baaing sheep." Her little figure was warmed by his loving tone._

"_And…the funny innkeeper?" She asked. _

_Her Angel chuckled, and she smiled at the genuine feeling behind it. His voice was so beautiful…_

"_Yes, my child. Now snuggle into your blankets, for I'm going to tell you how it started, when Mary saw the angel of the Lord…"_

_Christine listened in delight as her Angel reenacted the Nativity scene. From when Mary saw the messenger angel Gabriel, to the travel to Bethlehem, to the bustling innkeeper, into the stable with Joseph, Mary, baby Jesus and the animals, and currently to the shepherds watching over their flocks. Just the musical sound of voice made the story come to life. She had laughed joyfully at the animal sounds he would make, almost not stopping when it came to the braying, stubborn camel. _

"'_Baa!' bleated the fluffy sheep, as it butted its head against the shepherd's legs," Her Angel went on. "He wondered if the sheep wanted more carrots, until he saw a bright light…and immediately dropped the carrot." _

_Little Christine giggled, and pulled up her olive blanket above her shoulders, her chocolate-brown eyes wide with excitement._

"_Then…an angel of the Lord appeared to them, the glory of God shining down upon them!" Her Angel exclaimed in a powerful booming voice. Christine jumped at the sound, getting more excited by the minute. What would happen next? _

"_He said, 'Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born unto you; He is Christ the Lord! This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger. Then a great company of heavenly host appeared with the angel, and praised God, saying…" Then her Angel burst out into song, his magical voice echoing throughout the room. It was a surprise that no one sleeping in the beds around her had awoken. _

"_**Glory to God in the highest! And on earth peace to men on whom His favor rests!"**__ Her Angel sang, his voice rising into a crescendo. Entranced, his pupil clapped, delighted by the musical tone that her Angel had added. _

_Her Angel then cleared his throat. "Now, continuing on…"_

_"Angel?" A thought had popped into Christine's head as she remembered that many angels had appeared to the shepherds. As much as she wanted her Angel to continue, the thought wouldn't go away, and she found herself not being able to unsatisfy this new curiosity._

"_Yes, Christine?" _

"_Were you…one of those Angels? I mean, part of God's heavenly host?" Her voice piped up innocently. She waited for a few moments, wondering why her Angel hadn't answered her yet. "Angel?"_

"_Yes, my child…" Why did it seem that her Angel's voice sounded chocked up? "I…was one of them."_

_This excited Christine even more. So he was there when Jesus was born! Such an idea was a little difficult to grasp for her young, innocent mind, but she believed it immediately. Her Angel would never lie to her! _

"_What was it like?" She asked, smiling from ear to ear. Her pink little face peered up to where her Angel's voice had come from, waiting expectantly. _

"_It…was beautiful," Her Angel responded quietly. "Beautiful. You could see the stars practically sing for His glory." A dreamy look enveloped the little girl's face as she imagined how that would look like. Smiling lovingly up towards heaven, she reached out, grasping at air as if she was grasping her Angel's hand._

"_Is that what heaven looks like?" she whispered to him, as if sharing a secret. "Then I can't wait to go there, so I can share it with Jesus, my father, and you…the ones I love the most in the entire world." She proclaimed, her innocent wonder shining from her face. _

"_You know that I love you, right Angel?" _

"_Oh…my…dear…Christine."_

"_Yes Angel?"_

_A pause. _

"_Of course. And I love you as well." The little girl beamed at this, and cuddled further under the covers. Her Angel loved her! Ever since her father died, she didn't feel as happy as this. _

_Three people loved her! She shouted joyfully inside her heart. An angel loved her. _

…_What girl would ask for more?_

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Erik wiped a tear away from his eye, as he remembered that Christmas Eve. When he shared the Nativity story with little Christine. He hadn't believed in God, not since he was five years old, but it was worth it to see the smile blossom on her usually sorrowful face. He believed God existed…

But Erik wondered why God created him in the _first place_.

He cringed inwardly though, when he remembered how he lied to her about him being part of the heavenly host. But her innocence was too beautiful to shatter with his ugly self. No, best to keep his identity secret, he had always told himself.

Coughing, Erik noticed his sickness was getting even worse as he slowly made his way to his pupil's dressing room.

He also remembered that was the night that she told him she loved him for the first time. He had been so shocked back at that moment that he almost forgot to tell her the rest of the story! It was not a _romantic love_ of course, but it was love nonetheless. Something he never received in his entire lifetime. And Erik would do anything, _anything_, to keep that.

Closing his golden-set eyes, he prayed for the first time since his five-year old self had kneeled by his cot so many years ago and prayed for his mommy to love him.

"Dear God…let me keep this love…just once…" Erik whispered, tears rolling down his cheeks and mask. He fell down on his knees, scaring a rat that had been scavenging for food. But it didn't matter to him, just as long as God could hear his tattered soul.

_**"Just this once, God, let someone love me…!"**_

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**(A/N: Aw, poor Erik. Gets out some tissue. I am FEELING the angst there. But don't worry; God will always feel a person's suffering. **_**And it will never go unanswered. **_**Oh, and by the way, I got the Nativity story from NIV version in the Book of Luke. I put a little detail into the sheep and that shepherd with the carrot though.)**


	3. Colder winter nights

**Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera**

**Hey everyone! Sorry for the delay. Been busy with school and stuff. But I AM SO EXCITED. Youth Convention's tomorrow, woot woo. Anyways, thanks for all the reviews. I appreciated every single one of them. Here's the new chapter! Happy Thanksgiving! God Bless. –Liane**

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_The Opera House dressing rooms weren't sufficient in providing warmth for the occupant. In fact, the only dressing room in the opera house that was actually warm was the Prima Donna's. The room was connected to the furnace rooms, thus sending precious heat to the extravagant room. There, Carlotta, the most prized soprano, could dally with her makeup in comfort, whether it was patting herself down in white powder, or smothering on the latest lipstick._

"La-di-dah!" Carlotta sang prettily-and loudly, as she popped another dark, rich chocolate into her mouth. Caramel. Perfect. She hated caramel, since it could ruin her white teeth. Who gave her these horrible chocolates anyways?

**_"BEEEETY!"_** she yelled. The maid jumped out of the seat she was dozing off in, quickly coming to her mistress' aid. Her hands shook as she curtsied lowly, her eyes full of sleep. Carlotta put her pink, bottom lip out, pitying her poor voice that she had to use to get the attention of her wretched assistant.

"Take zees chocolates away!" She snapped, narrowing her eyes from the chocolates to the trembling maid. "And the next time someone gives me chocolates, use your brain and throw them away!" Nodding so hard, that Carlotta thought she was going to make her head fall off; the maid took the offensive chocolates and scurried off in a flurry of lace. _**Zeet silly maid.**_ Satisfied that she had made her point clear, Carlotta turned back to her vanity table and continued to sing.

But not for long. As she prepared to do the final crescendo, a roar filled her ears.

"_**STOP THAT BLASTED SINGING!"**_

Carlotta dropped the pillow of powder that she was holding, and let out a horrified shriek.

"BEEEETTTTYYYY!"

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Erik groaned, and put his fingers to his throbbing temples. The shrieks of the Opera House's Prima Donna filled his poor ears as he grasped the wall for support. _**Wrong dressing room! **_In his sickened state of mind, he had taken a different path, and ended up at Carlotta's extravagant mirror. As he had waited expectantly to hear his angel's call, he ended up with an elaborated version of one of the arias of Carmen.

"Please, make it _stop_," Erik groaned quietly, as he turned around and stumbled in the other direction.

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Christine paced back and forth across the deep red carpet of her small dressing room, nervously twisting her brown hair. Restless, her natural teenage hormones kicked in through the waiting, and she had combed her hair, dressed into something more suitable, and checked for unseen blemishes. Finally, she decided she looked presentable enough, but it didn't help the fact that her Angel hadn't showed up yet.

Tears began to creep up to the edge of her chocolate brown eyes. _Where was he?_

A million of thoughts ran through her mind as she waited for the next five minutes. There had to be a reasonable explanation for her Angel's delay. Her angel had never let her down before, and she knew him well enough to know he wasn't one of God's angels for nothing.

Then, suddenly Meg's words came back to her….

_'Anything is possible…'_

Shaking her head, Christine immediately pushed those hideous words away. Her beautiful, loving Angel would never lie to her. _Of course, of course he_ _wouldn't!_ She assured herself, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. _You know him. He wouldn't do something like that. _In just a few minutes, her Angel would be there, with his beautiful, soothing voice to calm her, and she would laugh at herself the next day for jumping to these silly conclusions.

"Just foolish insecurity," She laughed softly. Oh, she hoped she was right…. Christine's lower lip trembled again, betraying her calm façade.

Right then the welcoming night seemed colder towards her.

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Madame Giry, the no-nonsense ballet mistress, locked up the little dancers' dorm, and proceeded to her comfy little room. Goodness knows she needed the rest after teaching over and over to the little ones what a turn was supposed to look like. She let a rare smile escape from her stern face as she recalled little Jetty's attempt to stuff her ballet shoes so that it would look like she was really on her toes. After a slight slap on the hand- she couldn't use the paddle with them yet-, the tiny ballerina burst out crying and bounced off in the other direction.

But, after several minutes of tears and sniffling, the little girl happened to be the _first one_ who did her turns right! She shook her head. Girls these days! It would be no surprise to anyone if she retired right then and there.

After entering her small abode, she proceeded to her deep, red dressing table, brushing her auburn hair absently. Giry sighed tiredly as her back ached irritatingly. _Time for that night rub again. _The womanwas starting to feel her old age catching up to her, and it was about time when the managers would replace her with a more fresher, young lady instructor. Although the word _**rest**_ sounded appealing to her, she couldn't help but worry about taking care of her daughter, Meg, on such a measly retirement salary.

'_Erik would take care of you,'_ Her mind taunted.

Madame Giry winced and pursed her lips, an action very unusual for the strong dance teacher, and retorted back. _'I know he does, that poor, lonely man…but enough is enough. I have to stop relying on him.'_ And he needed to stop depending on her as well. It was enough that she was always delivering his notes to the managers. If they found out she had a personal connection with the Phantom, goodness knows what would happen to her and her daughter. As much as she cared for the man, that type of risk could not be taken.

"M.Madame…Giry…" a beautiful voice rasped behind her. Gasping, she dropped the comb, letting it clatter loudly onto the floor, chills running up and down her spine. Turning towards her mirror, Giry spotted a pale hand supporting itself against the fragile object, no doubt lingering in her mind.

How ironic. Here she was just thinking of him, and there he was! That man had some way, making those grand entrances.

_"Erik?"_ She hissed, unbelievingly. "What are you doing at this time at night? And aren't you supposed to be having lessons with Christine right now?" A groan emitted behind the glass.

"Don't remind me…I have to get…to her." A fit of coughing began, and Erik stumbled from his hiding place. As he continued to lie there, his back shaking violently, her mind shouted that something wasn't right. Madame Giry's face widened in shock, and she hurried over to his side, placing the back of her hand on his burning forehead.

"You're sick," she stated, placing her hands underneath his arms. This was going to be difficult, getting _**this**_ structure of a man to the bed. Her inner mind sighed tiredly. That back rub would just have to wait.

_**"You think?"**_ Erik muttered sarcastically as he struggled to get his legs to function. But with no avail, they wobbled uselessly. Raising an eyebrow, she ignored the comment, deciding to concentrate on holding the sick man up. After what had seemed an eternity later, they finally managed to make it to the other side of the room, both utterly exhausted. Giry had to sit beside the bed to take deep breaths of air, before assisting to the wheezing figure next to her.

"I have…to get to…" Erik took a painful breath. "Christine." Tucking quilt blankets around his shoulders, Madame Giry firmly shook her head disapprovingly.

"You are not going anywhere, Erik, not until you get this ridiculous fever of yours down," she tutted, averting her eyes from the irritated glow that radiated from his golden eyes. _'Goodness, this man is so stubborn.'_ Even if he were close to death, he would do anything to get to his beloved pupil. _'But of course, that's what a man in love would always do. I can't blame him. A true heart can do nothing else.'_

The old woman smiled smartly, feeling a bit younger than before as she continued to banter the coughing man. "Unless you want her here with you, to tend to your health…"

A muffled shout could be heard from under the covers. _**"GIRY!" **_

Ah, yes, this was going to be a long night.

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**God Bless! Hope you enjoyed. :) Happy Thanksgiving!**


	4. Candlesticks and Quilts

**Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera. (Unfortunately) XD;;**

**Hey everyone thanks for all the reviews! Hope you all had a great Thanksgiving weekend. Man, Youth Convention was a blast! Reggie Dabbs and Monty Hipp are such awesome speakers. And God is so amazing, and so BIG. I can't believe that he loves a little person like me. And I am SO grateful to have Him in my life. God Bless, and enjoy the new chapter! –Liane**

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_It was midnight, and none was stirring in the Opera House. Not even a mouse in the dormitories could be heard in the deafening silence. Sometimes, a slight snore could be heard, but everything else bore the night's quiet glow. Even Christine was fast asleep, exhausted from crying tears onto her forest, green pillow. Her face, puffy and red, bore a heartbroken expression that could melt a cold heart. But, not even a moment of sleep could calm the raging storm that was going through the poor girl's shocked brain…._

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_Christine felt the sting of her_ _hair hitting her face as the wind whipped to and fro. Shivering, she opened her eyes, taking in the snow that surrounded her. Instead of the wooden roof of the cozy dormitories, the white sky welcomed her coldly. Realizing she was lying on a cold, lumpy mountain, she put a small hand to her face, gasping. She was a little child again…and in her old Christmas dress too._

**_Where was she?_**

"_A-angel?" she called out timidly, the idea of her being alone becoming very real to her. Shaking, she called out again, her heart thumping madly. "Angel?" Christine suddenly started to feel afraid, like a little child who got lost in a market full of people. Finally, her small voice rose to a shriek, wondering madly where her sweet angel was. _

**  
_"ANGEL!"_ **

_Sobbing, her little body curled up into a ball, wondering if anyone would ever find her before she froze to death. Wild thoughts began to run through Christine's mind as she waited. _

'_I thought he was always going to be there for me!'_

_'He's never going to find me here…'_

_'**But I love you Angel.'**_

_When the thoughts started to die away, so did her body. Slowly, ever so slowly, did Christine feel herself turning into a young woman again. Yet there was no sign of her precious angel. Dizzy, she covered her head from the wind hoping to lose consciousness soon. Just as her eyes started to close, she heard the voice she had lost hope of hearing ever again._

_"No…**ANGEL!"**_

…………………………………

Gasping, Christine opened her eyes, and sat up from her bed, only to find she was still in the dormitory. _'What a strange dream,'_ she thought to herself, shaking slightly. The only times she had nightmares like these, was before her father had passed away. As a little girl, she would always wake up in the middle of the night with that same strange feeling that she had right now. Like something bad was going to happen…Tears sprang up in Christine's eyes at the thought of her angel being hurt. That time she had no idea what to do about it, but now…

Immediately she got down her knees and prayed.

…………………………………

"Erik, **stop** doing that!"

Madame Giry placed her weathered hand on her waist as she glared at the sick Opera Ghost, who was currently trying to push away the spoon of medicine that she was trying to force inside his mouth.

"This medicine…it's **disgusting!**" Erik, the feared phantom, roared. "Who created this medicine? They must have a death wish right now!" Swatting away the purple, liquid substance, he groaned into the pillow.

"You must have a death wish for **_NOT_** taking this medicine," Giry snapped irritably. She had stayed up with this stubborn man for four hours already! She would get this spoon of medicine into his yapping mouth if it were the last thing she'd do. Oh, if only she could get some help from someone.

"Death wish? Ha! That vile substance will kill me _right on the spot_!" Erik declared angrily. His damp, raven black hair fell into his face as he turned his head from the spoon.

"Honestly, Erik, you're acting like a child," she chided, and before he could say another word, or most likely, shout, she popped the medicine into his mouth. Stepping back, she waited for a reaction. And she got one. Erik's eyes, blood red, squinted and he started to cough violently. Seeing that the poor man was about to choke, she grabbed a cup of water, and made him drink.

As Erik's face began to relax, it immediately morphed into a revengeful, death glare as he watched Madame Giry wipe his mouth with a clean handkerchief.

"You could have warned me," He rasped, rubbing his left, golden eye tiredly. Staring at him for several moments, Madame Giry sighed, and took a seat on the edge of the bed. Patting his leg in a motherly way, she gave a rare smile.

"So when are you going to tell her, hmm?"

A glint shone out of his eyes as he picked up the hint that she was trying to give out. Waiting, she could see the recognition and love flaring up in his gaze towards the mirror.

"Tell her _what_?" Erik laughed harshly, covering up the loving expression that occupied his face only seconds ago. His fists clenched the quilts that lay over him tightly, as if he was trying to control his overwhelming emotions. Sympathy welled up inside Madame Giry as she watched him stare at her expectantly.

"That you love her."

_'That look on his face is much more amusing than when I stuck that medicine inside his silly mouth,'_ she mused sadly.

Erik quickly overcame his shock as he digested what she had just asked of him. As she waited for his answer, a darkened look shadowed over his eyes, and he observed the quilts in fascination. A cold tone seeped into his voice when he finally responded.

"I do not know what you speak of, Madame."

"Oh, come _off_ it, Erik!" Giry exclaimed, exasperated. "I've lived for forty years, and I know a look of **love** when I see one." And in all her years, her mind added, she had never met such a talented, but ridiculously stubborn man.

To her surprise, his eyes softened. The affect that girl had on this man! "I-I…" Before Erik could say more though, a soft voice startled them.

_"…Madame Giry?"_ But Madame Giry couldn't respond to her name, because her mind had become frozen like the icicles on the windowsill. She had a good reason for it too, seeing Christine in a flannel white nightgown, standing at her doorway.

"**Oh…dear." **

…………………………………

Knowing that Madame Giry would be up at this time of night, Christine donned a night robe, lit a candlestick, and padded towards the ballet mistress' room. Maybe she could give her some advice on what that dream meant.

But secretly, Christine was wishing that the woman would wave her away, saying something like,_ "A dream like that? Fiddlesticks! It was just a dream, child. Go to bed,"_ just so she could relieve her frightened mind. Turning the melting candle away from her face, she knocked twice on the wooden door. Her mouth drooped down, disappointed. No answer.

"Strange," Christine muttered to herself as she turned the doorknob. "She's always in here at this time of hour…" As the door creaked open, she stared at the strange situation before her, speechless. Madame Giry _was_ in there, but with another person too…someone she had **never seen before** in the Opera House.

_"…Madame Giry?"_ she whispered.

They stared back at her with their mouths open. Wide-eyed, the man stumbled from the bed, shaking. "Oh no…" He said over and over again as he covered up his…was that a **mask?** "Oh no…" Continuing to listen to the man's beautiful, angelic voice, a numb recognition began to ebb into Christine's belly. Curiously, she traced the butterflies fluttering around in her stomach, wondering why she was starting to feel so dizzy. _Hm._ She had heard this voice before, although she had never seen the occupant of it. A voice she had heard ever since she came to the Opera House as a little girl... One that was with her whenever she cried, laughed, or sang her heart out. The magical voice of her Angel.

_'Wait…no…it couldn't be.'_ But in her heart, Christine couldn't deny it any longer. It was **true**, and the evidence was crawling before her feet, sobbing pathetically. Her chocolate, brown eyes sprang open, as she surveyed the man kneeling on the ground. No, not just a man, her _angel._

The world began to spin beneath her as she dropped the candlestick, ignorant of the noise it made as it clattered to the floor. Her mouth opened, and her throat was dry as she asked the question that changed her life forever.

"**Angel?"**

…………………………….

**(A/N: Hope you enjoyed! God Bless.)**


	5. Ghostly revelations

**Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera**

**Hey everyone! Sorry for the late update…been so busy with all the Christmas chaos hehe. Anyways, how was everyone's Christmas and New Year? I hope you all had a good one. Mine was great…haha…I got glomped several times, so I guess people liked the presents I gave them. LOL. And I gave the guy I liked his present and he liked it…yay (smile). Cough. Anyways, hopefully everyone keeps their New Year's resolution this year! Hahaha. Some of the people from my youth group created this video about pills that help you keep your new year's resolutions (as a joke of course!). Our youth pastor used it in one of the main services once, so that was really funny...XD May God Bless you in this year of 2008, yup yup! Thanks for all of your reviews, I appreciated all of them so much. God Bless, and enjoy! -Liane**

**p.s...(LOL) P.S. I Love You was such a touching and funny movie! I loved it soo much. :) And Gerald Butler was ultra cute as usual, heehee. Jeez...That was the second time I actually cried in a movie theatre haha. **

**………………………**

_Madame Giry's room, due to the little stove kept at the corner of the room, glowed warmly against the vanilla wall. But despite the cheery demeanor of the small abode, the three people that were occupying it were not full of Christmas cheer. No, instead, the worlds of a teacher and pupil were falling apart. And as the candle clattered to the floor, the light that had burned brightly was now extinguished, just like the fire of hope that had burned dimly in the instructor's heart._

**No…**

Erik's heart thumped painfully against his chest, while he hid his hideous face behind the claws of his large hands. His feet, oblivious to their actions, rocked back and forth, giving him the appearance of an old man about to kneel over. _No, no, no_. This couldn't be happening. After all these years, he had been cautious of his every move. Making sure the mirror was secure, avoiding innocent questions from his pupil, standing seven feet from behind the two-way mirror, just to be obscured from her view…He did all of these things! Now, because of a _**minor**_ case of illness, everything he built in his relationship with the one he loved came crashing down. This couldn't be happening. Not, not when…

_Not when Christine had __**just**__ begun to love him!_

**……………………………**

Christine froze, her mind reeling in shock as her "Angel" crawled towards her, sobbing into the lace of her nightgown. This was her Angel…. just a man. A very ill man. How was this possible? Just a few hours ago, she had been living in a dream world, believing that her beloved maestro was a heavenly being. Sent down here to instruct her, and love her! Her hands began to shake as the reality started to set in.

_'But…why…why…'_ Her mouth opened, full of questions that plagued her aching heart. But before she could voice out her disbelief, the magical voice of her Angel took over the silence of the small room, reminding her of all the times they shared together. She bit her lip, tears welling at the precious memories. 

**……………………………….**

"_Is this good, Angel?" little Christine smiled happily, lifting up her sketchbook to the sky. She hoped her Angel liked what he saw. On the white sheet of paper, was a wiggly form of an Angel with fluffy wings with a little girl holding his hand. Both were smiling joyfully next to a big Christmas tree topped with a miniature angel, happy to be sharing the holiday together. _

"_It's you and me!" she chirped. "I tried to draw a fireplace next to it, but the bricks were really hard to draw, and I wanted to finish it before you came." Eyes bright, she waited for her teacher's response. After what had seemed to be an hour, for a little girl at least, a laugh came from around the room. It became louder, and soon she found herself on a cloud of happiness, as her Angel emitted that beautiful sound. It was the one sound she hadn't heard since she came to one of her lessons with chocolate pudding on her face. _

_Happy that her Angel loved her picture, Christine giggled along, amazed at the change her dressing room took on. Everything around her seemed to come alive at the foreign sound. Chairs seemed to dance, the color of the pink wallpaper seemed to grow stronger, and the little red couch was more bouncy than ever before! It was like she had entered into one of those enchanted castles that little girls dreamed about, with the animated furniture and princes in disguise._

_"Oh, **how **I love you, my little angel," Her Angel chuckled._

_"I love you too my Angel," she beamed. And with that all said and done, they continued on with their lessons, her Angel suggesting afterwards that she should give the picture to Madame Giry for safekeeping. Although her innocent mind was curious… why would the ballet instructor would want to keep her messy drawing?…she obediently took it to Madame Giry the next morning, surprised and pleased when it was accepted._

_After that, she made sure to draw a picture for him **every day.**_

**………………………**

"Y-yes Christine," Her Angel gasped out. "It's me."

A cry emitted from Christine's mouth, immediately covered by the palm of her small hand. So it was really he. This was the person she loved all these years? The one person, who, during her childhood, soothed her grief from her father's death, sang her to sleep with soft lullabies? The one who listened to her every worry, even if it was about the color of the ribbons she wanted to wear in her braid for ballet practice or the scab she had gotten tripping over a piece of wood?

Despite the town sorrow that dwelled in her heart, she couldn't help but stare at the irises that captured her with their flecks of gold. Her heart flipped over as she fell into them. It seemed to flicker with the fire coming from the stove, dancing gracefully. Their beauty though, was dimmed due to the overwhelming sadness that matched her own.

_'It's still him though,'_ her inner voice spoke hesitantly. _'Isn't he? In a way he was and still is your angel.'_ Regardless, as her heart urged her to forgive and forget, her mind screamed that he couldn't be trusted again.

_'Think about all those times you opened your silly heart! He was probably laughing as you went on and on believing that he was an Angel,'_ It exclaimed angrily, reflecting the bitterness that ebbed through her tired body. _'If you hadn't found out about this, he would have been doing it as long as he pleased!'_

As this notion became clearer, Christine shut her eyes tightly, hoping to block the emerging tears. She was so sick of crying, and as much as her heart and mind made good points, she wished they would just be silent for **one blessed second!**

Finally, she had the strength to speak. "A-all this time…it was a lie?" She whispered, gazing down at her crying Angel. Even if he had deceived her, her heart continued to jump at the heart broken expression that he bore. The volume of her voice grew higher. "Was this some big _joke_ to you?"

The raven-clad head of her maestro bowed to the floor, shaking to and fro frantically. Tears from his glittering eyes fell to the floor like rain, as he took shaky breaths and tried to speak. "Never Christine…I would…I would…_never_…" Her Angel breathed, his throat starting to wheeze. "I would never dream of h-hurting…." A deafening silence followed, his words hanging in the air. And then it happened. Just when Christine was going to press him further, coughs began to overtake him, and he closed his eyes, unable to finish.

After that, chaos ensued.

Madame Giry, with an odd expression on her aged face, stood up from the bed abruptly, startling Christine. Her head still dizzy from the turn of events, she looked at the older women blankly. She hadn't realized she was still there, sitting and watching the unfolding situation with calmness. That calmness was gone now. In a flurry of movement, the ballet instructor had pushed Christine aside, rushing to the bed. Placing a hand against her Angel's forehead, a moment went by as she checked the temperature. Finally the palm was removed from his reddened face, with a decided diagnosis.

"Oh…oh dear," Madame Giry muttered, frustration evident in her clenched fists. She knocked off a bottle of medicine from the nightstand, breathing harshly. "I should have known that that medicine was going to expire soon…"

Christine immediately looked down again at the sweat that dripped down her Angel's reddened face, alarmed at the older lady's remark. "What's wrong?"

Madame Giry, instead of answering her question, snapped her withered fingers.

"Quick, hand me that water bowl," She commanded, attempting to lift the groaning man into the quilt bed again. Her Angel peered out from his heavy-lidded eyes, mumbling incoherently. "Come, Erik, help me now." Her brow furrowed as she turned back to Christine, who was apparently frozen. "Bowl, Christine, **_now_**!"

Snapping out of her shock, Christine grabbed the water bowl, accidentally splashing some of the liquid onto the floor. Her heart thumped frantically as she searched for a rag, knowing that the situation was serious. The image of his heartbroken face, imprinted on her thoughts, urged her to move faster. Her Angel's life was at stake, and she was _moving like a turtle!_

………………………………..

_Good, she has that bowl…now…I can get that medicine…_

Madame Giry, noting that Christine was finally taking action, hurriedly handed her a rag. Running over to her coat, she peered over her shoulder, observing the way the girl worked to cool down the man's body temperature. Deciding that Christine was on task, she turned for the door, making a satisfied noise as she turned the knob.

"Wait!" Christine yelped, looking up from her tutor's sickened form. She gripped the worn-out rag tightly as she looked at the door that Giry was about to exit. "Where are you going?"

"To get some more medicine," the ballet instructor answered snappishly, holding the door halfway. "Now, just keep doing that _until _I get back…"

"But what if he gets worse?" the pupil protested weakly. She wringed the cloth and dabbed at her instructor's forehead lovingly. Suddenly, Madame Giry's irritated mood dissolved watching the devotion that Christine's actions displayed for her teacher. How could she be mad at the poor girl? She found out Erik's identity just a few minutes ago, and then was placed with the responsibility of saving his life!

Softening her tone, she tried to smile and reassure the stressed out teenager. Goodness knows the girl would need _some_ type of encouragement when this night was finally over.

"He'll be fine with you at his side, my dear."

………………………

**(A/N: Sorry this chapter's kind of short…I've had somewhat of a writer's block lately. But don't worry, I'll continue writing! And if any of you guys have some ideas, I would love to hear them! They may be really helpful. Thanks. God Bless!)**


	6. Tender Angels to Sing to Sleep

**Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera or the Goo Goo Doll's song "Black Ballon." Man, that song is beautiful.**

**Hey everyone thanks SO much for your reviews. :)**** And I am so sorry for the late update before…and the cliffhanger. Haha, it wouldn't be good to let people hang off a cliff, right? Because it's dangerous, I will continue. And thanks for all of your suggestions; I got a great idea from all of them! God Bless, and enjoy! -Liane**

**…………………………**

_In the dim light of Madame Giry's small abode, a disfigured, ill man was lying underneath a mountain of quilts, tossing and turning. Beads of sweat rolled off his abnormally warm forehead, the nightmare continuing. Underneath his eyelids, his eyes darted back and forth, like a prisoner looking for a way to escape a dark cell. Helplessly, his student could only stand by and watch, dabbing at his face fruitlessly while he continued to wrestle with the demons in his restless sleep. The tearful girl could tell that this night wasn't going to be easy for the both of them. Desperate for the angel to awaken, she fought for his life as the hours went by. _

"Erik…wake up, _please_ wake up!" Christine nudged her Angel carefully, now dabbing the wet cloth to his temple. If he continued to keep this up, she was certain that she was going to lose her self-control and cry. And she couldn't cry. No, not when her beloved Angel needed her the most. She just wished that…**_oh!_** If only he would wake up, so that she could forgive him. Her heart throbbed with the knowledge that he fell asleep thinking that she hated him. There was also the possibility that he would not wake up.

Christine shut her eyes tightly, telling herself to breathe deeply.

'_Don't think like that! He's going to be perfectly fine!' _

She frowned in determination, focusing her eyes on the bed-ridden maestro before her. She would fight a thousand men, dramatic as it sounded, before she would let him die in her care! Placing the wet cloth on her Angel's cheek, she began to pray silently, putting her whole heart into the request that she was about to ask.

'_God…my kind, beautiful, everlasting God, thank you for your mercy and your kindness…please heal my Angel. I know he's not an Angel…. but I don't care. He's like an angel to me…I love him with all my heart! …Please, please…just don't take him away from me. This oh, is such a selfish request, I know. But I know that with your strength and power that you can make him well again…thank you, and let your…'_ Christine's voice almost broke. _'Let your well be done. Amen…'_

Exhausted, she laid her messy hair on top of her Angel's hands, content to listen to the beating of his heart. Again, he cried out, shifting to face her with a heartbroken expression on his face, and begsn to cough violently. Christine, with compassion written all over her face, tenderly placed the cup of her palm on his feverish cheek. What had this poor man gone through, to make him reveal the emotions that most of the opposite sex would never reveal?

She bit her lip, remembering what her father taught her long ago about the emotions of man…

**……………………………………..**

"_Father?" little Christine asked one day after running around the beach with her playmate. Her big, brown eyes looked up at him, puzzled. _

"_Yeeees?" her father, Gustavo Daae replied back, teasingly. His daughter's constant questions didn't seem to surprise him. He knew that as a child, learning was an important part of their little lives. Nodding for her to go on, his hands worked on his rusty violin diligently._

"_Do boys cry? Because little Raoul cried today after he scraped his knee on one of the big rocks in the water…" She tilted her fluffy, curly hair to the side. "I've never seen boys cry before…" Gustavo could've laughed out loud. How his little girl could coax the truth out from the most innocent question!_

"_Of course boys cry. They just don't like to show it," He winked at her. Oh…that E string was horribly out of tune…the stubborn, squeaky thing!_

"_**WHY?"**__ Christine frowned, propping herself up on a tall, wooden stool. Her curiosity about males was the funniest part of his life sometimes. Gustavo had almost chocked on his glass of water the day before when she had asked why there were several boys in the fishing village that were giving her daisies. She thought they were just trying to give her the bugs that made their home in the beautifully scented plant. _

"_Because…" He thought for a minute. "They don't like girls to find out about their weak side." There. That should be a good enough answer. Now, to find that cloth, so he could dust his hands off from all that rosin…_

"_**WHY?"**__ She asked again, her frown becoming deeper. _

_Gustavo laughed out loud. "Because they love them. Just like I love you." Better not tell her about courting and such yet. She was __**much**__ too young, and he didn't want to shoo his lovesick apprentices from his home with a violin bow. Violin bows were __**quite**__ dangerous, depending on what way you used them…_

_Christine put her little fist to her mouth, thinking deeply. His sweet, little philosopher. _

"_Well, they shouldn't hide them." She said loudly, her hands now placed at her hips. "Boys are humans too, and how am I supposed to know if they need a nice seashell to make them feel better?"_

_Gustavo raised his eyebrows at his daughter's unspoken words of wisdom. He had questions himself too…_

_Where in the world did she get these ideas? _

**………………………………………..**

"Ohh…"

Snapping out of her memories, Christine noticed with alarm, the beads of sweat that cascaded down her Angel's neck, and the damp feel of his white long-sleeved shirt. Immediately, she took her hand away from his hands, and checked his forehead for the fifteenth time that night.

It was burning hot now.

Gasping, Christine undid the buttons of the shirt, removing the clothing from his form as fast as she could. When the last one was separated, she splashed some water onto him, dabbing around as fast as she could. It was then that she realized what she had just done…

Christine blushed furiously.

Averting her brown eyes, she turned her Angel over gently so that she could cool down his back also. That's when she saw the horrific display…scars that snaked across her teacher's back.

'_Where did these come from?'_ she wondered, tracing her fingertips on one of the healed wounds. Her heart thumped painfully at the idea of him being beaten, which he clearly was. Anger rose in the pit of her belly as she gazed down at a large, brown scar that was right on his neck. As she reached out to touch it, her Angel cried out abruptly. Startled, she glanced down at his face with hope flaring in her eyes. Disappointed that he wasn't awake, as she had at first thought, she continued to caress the old wound sadly.

Her Angel cried out again, pain etched in his face. "Don't.. hurt me!" He rasped, clawing at her fragile wrist with incredible stength. Again, Christine checked to see if he had awoken, only to be met with disappointment again. Sighing sadly, she soothed him some more, hoping that she could ease some of his pain…whatever it was.

_'Must be the nightmares again,'_ she concluded. Frowning, she looked back towards the door. Madame Giry hadn't come back yet, and she was starting to feel worried. She couldn't break the sickness with just a measly, drenched cloth!

'_Take a deep breathe Christine, and believe in God. He will make Erik better…!'_

Her Angel moaned suddenly, making her half-jump from her seat on the bed. "Don't hurt me…I don't want to do this. Can't you see that I don't want to do this?"

Christine furrowed her brow, observing the effect that her hand was doing to him…Maybe she shouldn't touch his scars for the time being…He obviously was responding badly to it. _'As if…'_Her eyes widened as she considered that her touch was bringing back old memories. She withdrew her hand immediately, as if she had burned him with her touch. Crystal tears brimmed her eyes, and she began to stroke her Angel's black hair instead, hoping that he could feel her there with him, supporting him, and willing him to be strong. Then she opened her mouth, and began to sing.

_Coming down the world turned over_

_Angels fall without you there..._

_And I go on as you get colder _

_Or are you someone's prayer?_

"Oh, If I could have just been there with you," She murmured quietly after her song ended, admiring the softness of his ruffled hair. It was like stroking the feathers of a sleeping bird, and she couldn't help but noticed the calmness that overtook his whole body.

Yet, she could barely make out his features, because of the mask that covered half of his face…Christine's eyes flickered curiously as she took in the harsh-looking porcelain. What a strange piece of clothing. That _couldn't_ be comfortable…

'_I wonder…hm…oh, __**what is**__ under this?' _She wondered, touching it briefly with her small hand. Temptation flickered in the corner of her mind, as she fingered the edge of the mysterious mask. One motion, and the rest of his face would be revealed. Would, she, could she, invade this man's protection?

No.

Fortunately, she was able to control her overwhelming curiosity, and took her hand away as quickly as she had put it there. Christine smiled wryly, despite her exhaustion from staying up for so long. _'Father did always say that I had a hunger for knowledge to the point of rudeness!' _

Oh, how she missed her father. Now another important man in her life was dangerously close to leaving her all alone. Christine closed her eyes in one last prayer again, tears finally forcing their way down her cheek.

'_Please God. Don't let me lose him.' _

Sighing, she let herself look up with the hope of seeing her Angel's eyes on her. It was not to be. Despair lurched through her stomach, causing a wave of sickness to crash over her, as she saw his closed eyelids once again. Sobs overtook her form, and she bent over her maestro, hugging him tightly.

_**"Please…"**_

Minutes ignored her plea, going on as she cried her eyes out. When she could cry no more, she shut her swollen, sunken eyes, and wrapped her hands around her Angel's cold fingers again, falling asleep.

**…………………………………….**

Erik slowly opened his eyes, wincing at the dizziness and the headache that his head bore heavily. Where was he? Oh yes, Madame Giry's room, ever since he got that pestering fever. His elbows creaked, and he was sure he had the appearance of a sickly old man, which he probably was, considering his age. What a lovely way to end his day.

_'What a horrible dream,'_ he shuddered, recalling the memory that tormented him while he slept. Coughing, Erik tried to sit up, only to feel the weight of another on his chest. _**What in the world…**_

That's when he remembered the previous night's events, shock hitting him like a punch to the stomach as he gazed down at the sleeping girl besides him.

_'Christine…'_

**…………………………………**

**(A/N: Hope you enjoyed! Man, did I make this chapter mushy, or what? This was definitely not conservative. D: Lol. Oh, and before you think that I made Christine take Erik's shirt off, just for the fun of it_...it's not what you think! EEE._ It was just a way to get Christine to see some of his past through the scars. Thanks Lady Moon Dragon for helping me get an idea. God Bless! )**


	7. Twelve Broken Hearts

**Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera. WAH. D:**

**Hiii everyone! Sorry I haven't been doing a lot of updates lately. I've been busy with schoolwork and all. Sigh. So how was everyone's Valentine's Day:) I hope you all had a great one. Mine was actually pretty nice this year, so I was happy about that, haha. God Bless! –Liane**

…………………….

_The room felt warmer because of her. Or maybe it was because of that silly bug that took ahold of his body several hours ago. Soft quilts…soft pillow…and the love of his life sleeping on him. He didn't mind it though with her soft hair tickling his face, because it was one of the best sensations in the world. Oh no. After a lifetime of causing horror to everyone he touched, he didn't want it to end, ever. He just wondered how in the world was he was supposed to fall asleep again…_

Erik sighed softly, eyes roaming over Christine's angelic-looking face. He knew that this wasn't going to last forever. When she woke up, she would take one last, betrayed look at his mangled face, then leave forever, knowing that she had saved his life at least. That was why he couldn't move his shaking hands to wake her up. Maybe…just for a _little bit_…he could let this moment carry on.

Tears started seeping through Erik's eyes, as he dared to touch her check gently. How he wished this could go on forever. _'But,'_ he thought, sarcastically. _'Good things come and go…pity that she was the only good thing that actually happened in my pathetic life.' _As Erik lay there, bittersweet memories rushed through his golden eyes; particularly starting with the first time he had met her in the Opera House's chapel room…

…………………………..

_Grumbling, a very drenched Erik in his twenties reminded himself not to set up a trap in the tunnel where he usually went through. He wasn't going to keep on forgetting on where he put his traps, and then survive them later. As strange at it seemed, he felt more embarrassed than irritated that he fell into a full block of sewage. Imagine, the Opera Ghost didn't finally get captured and sentenced to death, or went down fighting an intruder. No. He had to forget where he was going, while humming a **happy** tune, and fall into…**well that!**_

_And he smelled. Erik drew his eyebrows together, as he spit the last of that vile substance. Opera ghosts, should be intimidating, terrifying, commanding, powerful… **Not smelly. **_

_"I feel sorry for whoever gets to die in **that**…" he muttered to himself, passing by the little Chapel that the Opera House had. Personally, he believed that it was one of the most beautifully crafted rooms in the entire house. With its cream white candles, stained glass windows, and gray architecture, he sometimes felt that God was really there with him._

_No one ever came to glorify the beauty of the Creator though. Erik had been at the Opera for several years, and only a couple of people came to the room on rare occasions. Except for this little girl with curly brown hair, that he kept seeing recently. Curious to see if she was there again, he peered into on of the glass windows. He had learned from Madame Giry that she prayed and talked everyday in there for her late father._

_Ever since then he watched her, although he wasn't sure why. Maybe it was because of her wide, innocent eyes that always gazed towards heaven in that adorable way. Or maybe it was because of the way she held her bangs across her face like a blanket. Whatever it was, he was drawn to the little, fragile being like a moth to the flame._

_And there she was again. What was her name again? Oh yes…**Little Miss Christine Daae. **_

_"Dear God," the little person began, shyly looking upwards. "Thank you very much for Madame Giry…and for the Opera House…and Meg…and…" Erik, temporarily forgetting about his little misfortune with the traps, listened to the long list, amused for several minutes. That child could prattle all sorts of things until everyone, even he, would fall asleep! Then his amber eyes softened at her next words._

_"And…please help my father to be happy up there…" Christine said quietly, her big eyes now filled with sadness. "And could you ask him for me when he's going to send the Angel of Music to me…? I hope he's coming really soon…Father says he's going to have really big, fluffy wings, and a halo, and a pretty voice when he teaches me…"_

_All right, maybe it was her sweet prayers that were making him feel these compassionate feelings. Or those ridiculously long lists that she kept saying. He didn't know. But soon, Erik's rational mind began to argue with what his heart was telling him._

_'Don't do it, you fool. Otherwise, you're going to regret this for the rest of your life,' it hissed. Wincing at the evil, yet sensible part of his head, Erik then heard his heart speaking to him. Useless, soft little thing it was. Yet, it was right._

_So Erik decided to open his mouth._

_"Wandering Child so lost, so helpless…"_

_And with that, his life changed, and so did hers. He became her Angel of Music…**in one second flat. **_

_Even during the best years of his life, did Erik still wonder which told him the best advice: his mind and his heart. __Although it was always in the back of his mind, he thought it was the best decision he ever made._

…………………………..

Right when he was getting to the part where he was instructing Christine, Erik woke up. Putting a hand up to his throbbing head, he tried to figure out what happened. So he had been able to fall asleep. Remembering the girl who was besides him, he furrowed his brow. There were still the sensations of the soft quilts, sheets, and pillow, but no sweet pressure weighing on his heart like before. Erik glanced down, to make sure his sleeping angel was still there with him.

…She wasn't.

Tears gathered again at his swollen eyes. So she did leave, and he didn't get to even say goodbye…oh, _why did he have to fall asleep_…Chocking down a quiet sob, Erik buried his head into his hands, shaking. After several minutes of his world falling apart, he glanced up at the empty space where she had slept. Hopefully glancing at the door, his heart fell at the unmoving object. _'It's true. She really is gone…'_

"Goodbye, my angel," He whispered softly.

………………………..

**(A/N: Pleaaaaase don't kill me for this chapter. You'll see what happens. God Bless, and hope you enjoyed!)**


	8. Bittersweet Misunderstandings

**Disclaimer: I DO NOT own Phantom of the Opera. (Sigh)**

**Hey everyone:) Thank you sooo much for all the reviews and story alerts. I'm so happy you're enjoying the story…and that you didn't kill me. Haha. Well, here's the next chapter! Hope you enjoy. God Bless!**

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_She smelled the snow on top of the damp roofs of the Opera House while time ticked by. Finally daring to step outside the little haven, she turned back to survey her beloved Angel. He had finally calmed down during the night, and was currently snuggled under the fluffy quilts in a quiet sleep. She was glad. He didn't need to be having nightmares while he was having a fever. She couldn't imagine what he had been dreaming a few hours ago, but it sounded dreadful. When she had awoken to a room with just her and her Angel, she decided that she had enough of waiting. Madame Giry had been out for as long as she could remember, and there was the possibility of her Angel's sickness worsening! Sheneeded to findthe ballet instructor, and NOW…._

"**CHRISTINE!"**

Jumping out of her skin, Christine spun around to a very soaked Madame Giry. Grimacing, the girl observed the unhappy look on the older woman's face. "What're you doing outside the room?" Giry demanded harshly. She grasped a paper brown bag in her right hand, and shook the other in a fist. "That man might be dying in there, and you're dallying around the hallway like you're at dance practice." 

"I…" Christine stuttered under the glare of the instructor. Frowning, she went on more firmly, but kept her temper down. Now wasn't the time for a petty argument just because she felt frustrated. "I was just about to look for you."

"Look for me? Well, I'll **tell** you…" 

Realization hit Madame Giry for a moment, and she lowered the fist slowly, regret for yelling on her face. Sighing softly, she scooted a wary Christine away from the door.

"I brought the medicine. And some tea and cold water. That was why I was taking so long…I apologize for making you wait my dear," she told the younger student sincerely, twisting the water out of her red hair. Christine noticed the wrinkles that were becoming more evident on her face. "How is he doing?" 

"Well…he was doing well the last time I looked at him," Christine murmured worriedly, tucking a strand of curly brown hair behind her ear. "But that was ten minutes ago…" Her big brown eyes glazed over as she glanced at the still door. "You don't think…?" The expression on Giry's face frightened her beyond belief. Taking a deep breath, she quickly pushed the door open…

_'Please, God, let him be alright…'_ The two thought to themselves.

What met their eyes wasn't exactly what they had expected. The bed was rumpled, with a very emotional Erik clutching the quilts, shaking violently. 

…………………………………….

Once Christine caught sight of her Angel, she froze. A part of her jumped for joy that her beloved tutor was awake, but the other was immensely worried. He wasn't shaking like that when she left! Running to his bedside, she immediately placed her palm against his forehead, scolding him lightly. 

"Angel, what were you _thinking_, trying to get out of bed?" She chided as she tried to look at him in the eye. His eyes, hypnotizing and beautiful, made it difficult to do so. "You could have gotten worse, especially in this weather!" 

"_C-Christine_…?" Her Angel stuttered hoarsely as if he couldn't believe she was there, standing in front of him. He shakily took in a deep breath, and placed a shivering hand against his student's cheek. "What are you still doing here?" 

"Still doing here?" Christine echoed, confusion ebbing into her mind._ 'What? I've been here the entire time.'_ She furrowed her brow and forgot about his illness for a moment. He didn't think that she had left him while he was still sick, did he? Even if she had decided not to forgive her Angel for his deception, she would have never left him in his time of need, despite how much he had hurt her. 

"I…I thought you left." 

"You thought I left you?" She whispered incredulously, touching the hand that was caressing her face gently. "Why would you ever think that?" 

"When I woke up…you weren't there…_you weren't there_…" he replied brokenly, taking his hand away from her face as he rambled on. Soon, he forgot he was even talking to her, obviously wrapped up in his own thoughts. "I-I wouldn't blame you for leaving of course, I mean you left…and oh, who would want to take care of a monster…? _Oh Christine!_ I wonder where you're going at this time of night, my dear…you could had least left in the morning…my child, why did you leave me..." 

Christine looked on, a bit amused at her Angel's outspoken train of thought. It was only until his voice got increasingly shaky that she decided to speak. 

"Angel?"

"Yes, Christine?" 

She enfolded him in her arms. 

"I'm right here."

**……………………………………**

**(A/N: I thought it would be best if I ended the chapter here. See? No cliffhangers! Heehee. Hope you enjoyed, God Bless!)**


	9. Decking the Halls

**Disclaimer: I DO NOT own Phantom of the Opera. WAH. Orrrr Deck the Halls. /**

**Hello everyone! I hope everyone had/is having a great spring break! Mine's been great, volunteering at my youth group and everything. Everyone is so awesome there, and God's been teaching me a lot of things. XD Haha. And I **_**might **_**participate in our Fine Arts competition, maybe, for the Book Chapter area. What do you guys think? Should I go for it? ;) Anyways, hope you enjoy the new chapter! God Bless. **

**-Liane**

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_Once again, the Phantom's home was full of life. Candles glowed their comforting warmth against the damp walls, and the mysterious, but beautiful, music of the night resumed. Up above, the Opera house was bustling with energy too, as the crew prepared for their Christmas pageant and gift exchange. Holly was draped around statues, extravagant Christmas trees were placed in several hallways, and everywhere the ballet girls ran, they seemed to be pocketing peppermint sweets in their skirts…_

"Christine, hurry! They're about to start the pageant rehearsal in _any_ moment!" Meg yelped, dragging her flustered friend by the elbow. Christine gasped for breath as she was pulled along, desperately trying to adjust her golden wings. The two were dressed in identical angel costumes of glitter and holly halos, which were the traditional attires for the role of the Holy Host. It was just then when they left their dressing rooms that Christine realized that she had tied her corset too tightly.

"Ohh…Meg, is it possible that we could stop for a minute…" she moaned, tugging her laces fruitlessly for air. '_Is it possible that I could get some air for one blessed moment?'_ She couldn't faint from lack of breathe in front of the entire opera company!

…Especially not in front of _him._

It seemed like ages ago since Christine last saw her Angel. Ever since that night, she waited in front of her mirror, hoping to hear from her beloved mentor. Yet the silence that came from it grew louder day-by-day until she finally gave up. There wasn't any point in waiting for a voice that never came. Still, even now, she missed him terribly.

"Is it a little too much to ask for a simple hello, my _Angel?_" Christine muttered under her breath …or what was left of her breath anyhow. Her curly brown hair fluttered above her face as she took another deep gasp for air.

"What was that?"

"Oh? Hm. Nothing."

………………………………

_'All she did for you that night. It meant nothing to her. **Nothing**.'_

Erik's golden eyes flashed, emotions wildly running through him as he watched Christine be dragged around by her best friend. He gripped the banister tightly and turned away, willing himself not to look any longer. The two were on their way to the pageant rehearsal, and, if they didn't go faster, were most likely going to become a late pair of angels.

'Or, perhaps not,' he smirked to himself, heading towards the Prima Donna's room. On the way he idly remembered those holly berries that he pocketed a while ago…

…………………………….

"There. That should do it."

Buquet, a stagehand, sighed wearily as he hammered one last decorated wreath onto the wooden wall. All right, that _had_ to be the last one that he had to put up. Now there were three hundred Christmas wreaths hanging on every single wall in the Opera House.

Well. That was just enough to drive everyone crazy. Seemed like his job here was done. Whistling, he picked up a cloth, and wiped his sweaty face with it. _'Time for a nice, good bath…'_ he thought happily to himself, passing by Carlotta's dressing room. Just then, a remarkable voice burst into a festive, holiday song.

"_**Fa la la la la. La la la la!" **_

Buquet stopped suddenly, taking the time to listen. Boy, whoever was singing that had amazing talent. It was no wonder, considering that the Paris Opera House was one of the best in France. Though he wondered why someone with that voice would pick such a simple song to sing…

………………………..

"Oh, thank goodness we're not late!" Meg exclaimed happily, bouncy, yellow curls flying behind her as she and Christine joined their group of heavenly host. Christine followed behind slowly, trying to figure out a way to loosen the ties around her waist. She winced, and tried to find some relief. This corset was practically killing her!

"I…wonder why," she gasped out, hands around her back fumbling for her ties. Oh, _why _did she have to tie them into a ridiculous knot?

Carlotta was happy to relieve her of the first question. "Someone **BETTER FIX** theez dress, and soon!" she screeched, marching towards the two cowering managers in a flowing, violet robe. Clutched in her hands was the messenger angel's dress…golden, beautiful…_and splattered in red holly juice_.

"D-Don't you worry, my dear," Firmin, stuttered, his mustache quivering in fear. Andre, the other manager, didn't attempt to help his partner, and just decided to nod enthusiastically as the other was eaten alive. "We'll get this cleaned up for you in no time!"

"No, it won't beee," the Prima Donna bawled, dramatically putting her hand against her forehead. Big tears continued to roll down her face, and her fans, sensing her distress, started to flutter around, putting comforting hands upon her shoulder.

"_Really_, Carlotta, my dear," Firmin crooned, hopelessly trying to figure out a way to calm the crying diva. "You don't have to rehearse your piece with the costume on! Just continue on in this…lovely robe of yours, and the dress will be washed and perfect for opening night!"

Glaring, Carlotta looked up suddenly; along with her many devoted fans. The group made its way closer towards Firmin, who apparently was abandoned by his business partner. This was not good for the manager, as he backed up to the edge of the stage, his mustache bristling more than ever. He even looked up for help, which didn't do him any good either, since everyone was frozen, watching the scene with baited breath.

"_I…will…not sing,"_ she hissed, poking his chest with a red, manicured nail.

"W-what?" He stuttered.

"You heard me. I will not sing until theez dress _**is fixed**_!" And with that, she flounced away, her group still following like a moth to the flame. Silence invaded the stage for a split second, everyone shocked in disbelief. Then, chaos ensued.

…_Again_.

**…………………………………….**

**(A/N: Sorry there wasn't a lot of EC in this chapter. But hang on! Carlotta's dramatic exit, and Christine's corset are going to get everyone in the Opera house in a dizzy in the next chapter. Hope you enjoyed! God Bless! P.S. Oh, and I have nothing against 'Deck the Halls.' Very fun song.)**


	10. The Messenger Angel Sings

**Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN PHANTOM OF THE OPERA. (Sniffle) And the carol 'Oh Come Emmanuel.' **

**Hey everyone, how are you? Well…it's the last week of my vacation, which means I probably won't be able to update this for a while. But no have no fear! I will update it…just…not as quickly. Man, I'm so excited for tomorrow, cause I'm going to a Speed the Light rally, which helps fundraise money to help missionaries from other countries. Our church's worship band is playing, and a missionary from South Africa is speaking…. so yeah. It's going to be crazy. And I hope God moves through everything in His amazing way. Anyways, here's the chapter! Hope you enjoy and God Bless. -Liane**

**P.s. I'm going to say hi to my crush also (which I'm not really good at). So which me luck! XD **

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_The Paris Opera House had its moments in its long history. There would be times when managers quitted, prima Donnas threw fits, and rumors were spread like wildfire through the ballet dormitories. But this one? This one topped them all...it was so outrageous, that even the little ballerinas were stunned into complete silence._

_The prima Donna had refused to sing!_

Christine stopped trying to loosen her corset's cream laces momentarily to contemplate what had just transpired. Frozen to her spot, she could only watch as everyone went into a panic, running to gossip to their fellow crew workers. Carlotta, ever the diva, told the managers, Andre and Firmin, that she wouldn't sing until her costume was cleaned. Christine huffed irritably as she gazed longingly at the empty, red rows of seats. Rows of seats that were being taken for granted. What she wouldn't _give_ to sing in front of those seats, to see those extravagant fans and little mini-programs flutter against the audience's faces, to feel the heat of the spotlight against her face…

"Christine Daae could sing it, sir," Madame Giry suggested to the very sweaty manager, who was about to dab his face with a sheet of paper that had disappeared from the conductor's stand. Scoffing, he threw a glance over at the girl's way.

"That fragile little thing? Don't be silly."

"Oh, but she had been trained well, monsieur. And by an exceptionally great teacher," the ballet instructor shot back. She motioned for Christine to come forward, her thin lips pursed tightly together. "Please keep in mind that you don't have many options right now."

Christine looked up at the frowning manager hesitantly with her timid, chocolate eyes. She had never gotten this close to the man before, and it terrified her beyond belief! '_I just hope I don't make a fool of myself in front of him, and crack my voice in the middle of the song…' _she thought silently. Oh, how she wished that her Angel were here right now. She missed him, and his support that he always gave freely during their lessons together. What had happened to the trusting relationship that they had shared together? The one that had always made her feel safe, loved?

Maybe he didn't care for her anymore.

Christine squeezed her eyes shut, willing her thoughts to be silent. As reasonable as they were, they were extremely painful, and she didn't need painful when she was about to perform in front of her peers. She just had to concentrate, she told herself firmly as she gazed out at the empty red seat. This was what she wanted since she was a little girl, wasn't it? She couldn't waste this opportunity now, just because she got lost in her thoughts! _'Just don't think about him for right now, and it will be all over soon enough...'_

_'I can't do this…I can't do this…'_ started like a mantra through her head. Her hands shook as she began to open her little pink mouth. _'I can't do this…'_

Suddenly, she noticed a flash of white porcelain in Box Five.

…**Angel?**

……………………………………

"Sing for me, my Angel…_Sing for me_…."

Gazing concernedly at the object of his affections, Erik could only hope that she heard him. The girl was pale as a ghost, and she looked like she was about to fall over at any minute! But, oh, she was so beautiful…his heart pounded fiercely in his chest as he took in her costume. Her chocolate eyes and hair were practically glowing under the golden halo, and her wings were magnificent. He sighed longingly, his amber eyes shining.

_'She truly does look like an angel…'_

Erik had been pacing around his home for days, missing the beautiful sound of Christine's voice, and her gentle touch. Humiliated, he couldn't bring himself to face his beautiful student after the incident at Madame Giry's._ 'Congratulations, Erik. You were practically rambling like a madman in front of her!'_ his mind said sarcastically. A shudder ran through him as he remembered Christine's willingness to comfort his sick body. Erik closed his eyes in shame, his raven black hair falling against his saddened face. No one had ever given him such a display of affection, and it was earth rattling that this sweet girl would even dare it. At least he had the comforting memory of her warm embrace…

Because Christine could **never **love him now.

…………………………………….

_He was here!_

Christine's heart skipped a beat, and she almost jumped for joy. He was here! Goodness knows why the man finally decided to show up, but she couldn't care less. Happiness coursed through her entire system, and almost everyone onstage noticed the drastic change in her expression. Turning to the expectant manager, she gave a quiet smile.

"I'm ready."

The piano man, his long hands poised in position, gave a reassuring nod, and began to play. Widely smiling, everything in the world seemed right again, and with the small reassurance of her maestro's appearance did she begin to sing.

_Oh come, Oh come Emmanuel…_

_And ransom captive Israel,_

_That mourns in lonely exile here_

_Until the Son of God appear…_

Catching her breath, she then prepared for the last crescendo, feeling lost in the emotional pull of the song. If there was one thing that Erik taught her to do, it was to let go and sing with her whole heart. No matter what happened between them, she felt that she was always going to feel grateful towards him for that.

_Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel…_

Christine closed her eyes, and clenched her fists tightly as she delivered the last line of the song, her halo falling against her forehead caressingly.

_Shall come to you, O Israel!_

Opening her eyes, she held her breath, and waited for someone's approval. Well…if there was going to be any. The managers eyes were bulging out of their sockets, Madame Giry was giving a rare smile, and the audience? The audience was dead still, still enough to make her insides tremble. But what she didn't expect was…_oh!_

'_They're clapping for me!'_ she thought, her mind still wrapped in a cloudy blur. '_They're…'_ Unfortunately, she concluded that holding her breathe during the song was not exactly the best idea, since everything around her was becoming black, and the floor was rushing up to meet her.

**…………………………………………………**

**(A/N: HA! See? Christine's corset was bound to cause some problems. Anyhow, hope you enjoyed! God Bless!)**


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